Down the lonely road he strolled, the woman, he once loved, with him in mind alone. The thrush made a noise that a poet would call a song and a bull roared his passion across a barbed wire fence, where the cows huddled with their arses pointing the other way and their mouths chewing, for ever chewing.
the sun only reached the bottom of his feet, under the branches of the tree where he had once made love to her. In the shade his tears wouldn’t flow. The noise rippled through the undergrowth blackening the sky with fluttering wings. The bull stopped for a moment to look and then his lust returned. The bark stained to black with his blood as the gun smoke faded in a northern wind. His hand held hers once more as they drifted into the light. His body slumped into the gravel forgotten.